


Dairy Queen Doesn't Pay Compensation On Laptops And Broken Hearts

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Albino Dave, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But its still relevant, Ex Lovers, Fluff, Foreshadowing, Heartbreak, Humanstuck, Mexican Karkat, Multi, basically karkat's life is fucking ruined by none other than dave, bc why not, dairy queen au, dave just got a job at dairy queen, davekat - Freeform, has something like this been done before?, hes actually p good, jade has Tourette's disorder, karkat was in an abusive relationship, maybe art, ohgod he's so bad, on accident of course, or at least they seem random to everyone else, painter karkat, she'll just kinda shout random things, strangers to enemies to friends to lovers, tag?, you'll find out with who later, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:53:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7926721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternatively Titled: In Which Dave Ruins Karkat's Life By Forgetting His Order At Dairy Queen</p>
<p>Karkat Vantas just wanted a bit of ice cream, not whatever this cluster fuck could be called.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Technically this is my second fic, but I really didn't like the other one so here we go again. Also, this chapter is kinda slow, Karkat will actually meet Dave in the next chapter.  
> [EDIT] I made some minor changes to the first chapter, but nothing too major, except changing the art.

 

Karkat was treading in front of the painted canvas before him. Colors lapsed over each other, entwined in a never ending dance of boldness and elegance. Brush strokes were easily visible (something Karkat would never attempt himself) but it was fitting for this particular piece. Paint the color of death was creeping at the corners, aiding the mysterious vibe. The artist, Karkat saw from the minuscule slip of paper intruding on the scene, was from out-of-state. Very out-of-state, it seemed, because Karkat didn't even recognize the long name printed on the “Location” segment.

 People of all different brands were coiling around the painting. Some stopped to admire its beauty, others merely glanced.

 Karkat was no newbie to this particular game; a horde of desperate artists all cramped into one fancy building, in hopes of being “Discovered”. They smothered themselves in the smallest comment, the shortest glance at their art. Karkat honestly did not give a single fuck about what people thought. Painting was something he enjoyed; it was the one thing that didn't make him want to gouge his gander-bulbs out and shove them down the throat of any bystanders who dared make any comment on his height, race, hair, or anything, really. The art shows were just an added bonus, and this was the seventh one he'd attended.

At first, he was nervous. Painting and repainting, wanting only his best work put on display for the whole city to judge if they even deemed it worthy of judgment. He had once declined an invitation to said shows out of pure fear that he wasn't good enough. But, you know what? Who the fuck cares if he wasn't good enough for the pristine attitudes of every living being who possessed a breath and roamed the ever-crowded streets of this shit excuse for a city? Painting was fun, and Karkat was going to continue to do so until someone severs his wrist from his aching arms.

Karkat let out a low hiss. Shit, this painting was so fucking good. He knew he really shouldn't compare his art to others, but it was more of an subconscious action than a voluntary thing. His own art looked more like a toddler had gotten into a gallon of cheap paint and proceeded to slather a blank canvas compared to this masterpiece.

Karkat was unceremonious shoved from his standing point from a women wearing an incredibly skimpy dress, barely covering anything worth coverage.

“Hey! Watch where you're fucki....” Karkat trailed off as he saw who it was. Ugh.

“Heyyyyyyyy, Vantas. I see that you finally painted something nice. Oh, wait, I'm sorry, I forgot. You don't actually have any talent!”

Vriska Serket: The most irritating, childish, piece of worthless scum who ever walked this Earth. Karkat was pretty sure that if it didn't bring in a decent amount of money, he'd never come to another art show purely to avoid the bitch. Her left eye was covered by an eye-patch. Vriska claimed that her eye was blown up in some freak accident, although Karkat heard whispers on the street about her just stabbing herself in the eye with a pencil when she wasn't paying attention.

“Fuck off, Serket.” Karkat grumbled.

“Watch your tongue, I own this gallery and can have you perma-banned.”

“I'd pay actual fucking money to see you do that. You'd have a goddamn aneurysm trying to get through all the paper work that would take.”

Vriska scoffed. “Like you have any brain cells left yourself! I bet all the paint fumes you insist on breathing like oxygen are slowing making you even more of a moron, if that's even possible.”

“Vriska, you own an art gallery.”

“Shut up-”

The friendly banter was interrupted by a voice being broadcast throughout the building.

_Attention artists and patrons! 8 Ball Art Gallery will be closing shortly, please find yourself out the building in a respective manner at this time!_

Karkat grimaced at the name. What the fuck did it even mean? 8 Ball? The fuck?

“Byeeeeeeee, Karkat!” Vriska sneered.

“Well, it's been delightful. And by delightful, I mean I'm proud of myself for not killing you and using your blood to make my next masterpiece. Hasta la Vista, bitch,” the goodbye was accompanied by a flippant middle finger, Karkat's favorite. Vriska didn't have enough time to make some snarky remark, because Karkat was already out the nearest exit. He had already gathered his computer and other belongings ten minutes prior.

This wasn't necessarily a bad visit, although there were a few bumps. A kid thought he was a janitor at one point, and of fucking course, Vriska. But hey! He sold a painting; a scene from a dream, gold skyscrapers visible from every angle. Karkat had been very happy with the result. Too bad he couldn't tell anyone what it represented, he had no idea.

Outside, Karkat was greeted with a light rain, barely a drizzle. A silent prayer of gratitude was sent out that he wasn't carrying any actual pieces of art today, just digital files on a flash-drive.

He should really get them transferred to his desktop at home.

But first: tradition, a.k.a. Brewster's.

Okay, okay, it was most definitely the lamest tradition to ever exist, but it a simple one that Karkat was proud to have stuck to it for the past couple of months. Every evening after a showing, Karkat would drop by and order a different flavor of ice cream. Surprisingly, butter pecan had been his favorite thus far. Sherbet was now avoided at all costs.

Slinging his bag around to his other arm, Karkat slipped in and out of the unusual crowd contained to the side-walks. Several “excuse me”'s and “walk, bitch”'s were muttered. A single “fuck” was uttered as he nearly tripped on...... something? Karkat wasn't sure, but for a moment he would've bet his life that an arm encased in a ring of blue appeared at his feet.

Whatever. He's tired, and wants his goddamn ice cream.

 


	2. The Shit Happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh wow I'm not dead. who knew

Karkat balanced on one foot, scratching at an invisible itch.

_Ah, fuck._

Brewster's was closed. Of course it was, it was a holiday, wasn't it? Karkat always knew some bullshit celebration would be his downfall.

A loud sigh escaped from Karkat's lips, previously twisted into an angry frown. Just his fucking luck, a tradition broken purely because Vriska couldn't schedule a better fitting opening. Maybe she really did have “allllllll the luck!!!!!!!!”. 

Karkat turned on his heel, crushing a leaf in the process. He began halfheartedly walking in the general direction of his shit apartment, a bit disappointed by the sudden turn of events. A strong breeze invaded the street, scraps of trash billowing every which way. Huh. It really wasn't wind season, where did that come from? There most definitely should not be any strong winds this time of year, especially ones strong enough to nearly topple Karkat over.

Okay, scratch that “nearly”- the breeze fucking flung poor ole' Karkat into a trashcan. He stumbled backward. Sadly, this disabled him from spotting the off-set in the sidewalk, protruding from the depths of hell themselves. Fuckin' sidewalks, and their intent to make him suffer.

Short story shorter, Karkat ended up plastered to the sidewalk, face down. Damn, that hurt like a motherfucker. Rivers of people flowed around him, only a few kind enough to step over him rather than on his arm, back, and legs. Oh, gross, someone had gum on their shoe, fuck this day sideways with a rusty fork coated in hot sauce.

“MGHHHHHHHH” Karkat screamed into the unsuspecting sidewalk. Today started out so good, too. Well, that idea quickly jumped into the trashcan, specifically the one that caused this mess in the first place.

Karkat yanked himself off the ground, brushing leaves and footprints off him in the process. That gum was there to stay, however. Oh well.

See, the worst part is, Karkat had progressed to the point in which he rightfully did not care. His life was never “””easy”””, to say the fucking least. A shit childhood, delicately mixed with a school system that hated his guts, and a dash of relationship issues were not exactly ingredients you'd expect to find in the perfect little slice of pie known throughout the cosmos as life. Especially the relationship issues he had to face. Fuck, no, not the time to think about all that. Happy place, Karkat, think of puppies and the sweet release of death.

Karkat continued to contemplate his life as a sign from God himself appeared before his eyes. And by God, he means the advertising companies. And by sign, he means a billboard. For Dairy Queen.

Huh. Maybe the night wasn't completely ruined, after all. Ice cream was ice cream, and to be honest, Karkat could really use a pick-me-up after the previous events mentioned before. 

Shrugging (oh ouch bad idea, someone must've bruised him when they _stepped on him_ ), Karkat slung his bag back onto his shoulder ( _fuck_ ) and began to make his way towards the advertised DQ.

 

Dave was so goddamned bored.

Ok, yeah, he had Jade and Nepeta plus the others who worked with him, but he was still pretty much gonna pull his hair out at this point. Tonight was slow, which sucked, because Dave really needed the extra cash right now. John's birthday was coming up, and yet Dave couldn't afford jack shit to get him. He supposed John would be fine with, like, a few nice Polaroid photos of the sky and shit, but it was his 21st birthday. He'd be able to legally drink, goddammit, he deserved to get something nice and then go get shit-faced. Preferably without bringing his asshole girlfriend with him. Jesus, that chick really knew how to make every living situation worse and worse.

Dave was beginning to nod off when a ringing bell perked him up. Oh hell fucking yes, an actual living, breathing, customer. The customer in question looked rather annoyed, scanning the area before completely coming inside the fast-food joint. He had thick, brown curly hair and a darker skin tone than his own. He was wearing an over-sized sweater (….was that the cancer zodiac? uh hipster alert) and loose jeans. A bag was hanging from his shoulder, just small enough to not be classified as a full-on duffle bag.

Dave stopped at the register just as hipster guy arrived at the counter.

“Yo, what can I get'cha?” Dave chose as an appropriate greeting. Nice.

“Do you serve butter pecan here?” Sweater man scanned the menu hanging just above Dave's head, not bothering to look at him.

“Sorry, bro, we ran out of that earlier. We got some sick sherbet here, though, it's like an actual rainbow jumped into an oversized cup to be delivered to you by yours truly.”

The customer scrunched his nose up at the mention of sherbet (but not after blinking a couple times, offset by Dave's mini-rant), in a cutesy kind of way that made his entire face look hilarious.

“Oh fuck no, just get me a sundae then, extra fudge.” He retorted.

“Ok then, Mr. Sherbet-Hater. Sadly, I'm not allowed to make up names to put on the receipts anymore, so I'm going to need your actual name. Unless it really is Mr. Sherbet-Hater, in which case, holy shit.” Dave said.

“Karkat.”

“...Karkat? That's.. an interesting name.” Dave frowned. He also may or may have not coughed just then, but only to disguise the fact that he really did mutter “hipster” under his breath.

“Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all. It's really not that funny, and don't think I didn't hear you call me a hipster, you slime-lamp. It's my real name, I didn't change it to make myself look like some ordain idiot who has nothing better to do than listen to bands 'no one has heard of'. ” Karkat crossed his arms over his chest, definitely not amused by Dave's antics.

(well fuck. Guy has ears hidden under all that hair. Also, _slime-lamp???_ _??_ )

“Oh. Uh, shit, sorry. Uhm, here take this, put it on your table so I know who I'm supposed to give the sundae to.” Dave stuttered, handing over a small silver plaque with the number 69 engraved onto it.

Ironic.

Karkat glanced around, obviously noticing the apparent lack of any other customer. Regardless, he took the thing and made his way to a table for two, putting his bag in the chair opposite of him. It reminded Dave of that one movie where that dude was in love with his phone or some shit.

At last, Dave went through the motions of making a sundae, not really thinking. Well, he as thinking about a few things actually, one being sleep. Oh man it'd be amazing to be asleep right now; Dave hadn't been getting much of it lately. He had just moved into a new apartment, and the neighbors were fucking ridiculous. Did they ever sleep? No. Did they fuck all night, almost every night? Oh, yeah, definitely. Dave was pretty sure that it was a prostitute, considering he never saw the same guy leave the apartment twice. Except for one. He was hella shady though, so he was probably just a drug dealer, giving the lady her fix. Dave only hoped he didn't end up in the same situation.

But, hey, at least he wasn't living with his brother anymore.

Oh, thank fucking god for that.

He didn't like thinking about it.

Jade, who was currently trying to clean behind a machine, smiled in sympathy when Dave visibly shudder. She didn't know the details (no one did, save for Dave), but she knew something was wrong with Dave's memories of “home”.

“You okay, Dave?” Jade asked. She was a good, no, great friend. She knew how to talk to Dave without bringing up anything he didn't feel like talking about at that particular moment, or ever. Dave was grateful to have her in his life.

“Yeah, I'm chill, just got a little cold, that's all. What did I expect, working in a place that specializes in ice cream?” Dave forced a small laugh at the end. Jade gave her patented Oh Really(tm) look, but let it go nonetheless. 

“Dave! You need to start wearing a jacket! You'll get hypothermia if you don't take care of yourself.” Jade pouted.

“Striders don't get sick,” Dave reminded her. She laughed, and went back to scrubbing the wall behind machinery.

Dave finished up the customers order. Karkat, right, his name was Karkat. Dave would have to tell Jade later.

He walked out to Karkat's table, nearly tripping over a chair pulled a bit too far into the open. Not to mention he was tired and most likely wasn't thinking straight at this point. Karkat had his laptop open, almost stabbing the keys with his fingers. Damn. Is this guy angry, like, all the time? Cause that'd be amazing. Dave could see the little guy walking down the street, just passive-aggressively glaring at everybody, muttering curses under his not-quite-husky voice. 

Dave arrived at the table. Karkat didn't bother to look up, just grunting in acknowledgment. 

Here's where it all goes wrong, by the way.

Dave, tired from working two shifts on top of not sleeping in a few days, isn't exactly thinking straight. He's also not thinking straight in the fact that, wow, this Karkat guy is actually pretty hot when you pay attention. Oh, and muscle memory is a thing. You see, when a guy has been serving Blizzards for two months, he gets use to turning the milkshake upside down over the customers heads, in an effort to show just how thick they are.

So Dave, forgetting that Karkat in fact did  _ not  _ order a blizzard like everybody else usually does, thought  _ oh yeah I have to do that bullshit thing with the blizzard. _

And tipped the whole thing over Karkat's head.

The problem is, a sundae is very different from a blizzard. It's not nearly as thick, and is more susceptible to falling out of containers once turned upside down. And a sundae flipped on a person's head is bound to be very, very messy.

And whomever is unlucky enough to be tied to this fate is probably going to sit still for a few moments, just kinda processing what just went down, then absolutely flip his shit. 

“What. The.  _ FUCK.”  _ Karkat jumped from his place at the table, wiping what was supposed to be a nice treat off his face and out of his eyes. 

“Oh my god,” Dave whispered, eyes wide in shock (not that you could tell behind his sickass shades). He was still standing there, with the cup in his hand. 

And in that moment Dave Strider knew,

 

He fucked up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, Dave. How tragic. You've ruined Karkat's night /and/ sweater.  
> good job.
> 
> I'm actually okay with this chapter. I have no idea when next chapter will be here. Stay tuned for angry rants, confused by-standers, and a Jade who very much wants to go home.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok here's the deal: Please tell me whether or not you'd like me to continue this story. I really don't know if I like it, but I do know where I want it to go.  
> Comments, Kudos, Whatever.  
> 


End file.
